01.08.3014: Hey Hermano
Summary: Luke and Flint catch up over drinks
Date: 04/11/2013
Related: None
Luke Flint 

Mead Hall, Ignis
The Mead Hall is dark, with low ceilings and veins of soft, luminous orange running along the corners where the walls and the cathedral roof. Circles of the glowing orange march up the roof, linked together like archaic chainmail. Heavy tables of dark wood line the hall in two rows, with benches on both sides. Mead and hearty meals are delivered from the kitchen in the back. A space at the front of the hall is cleared for speaking, contests of skill, and the occasional drunken brawl. Pictures of members of the Ash Legion line the walls, organized by an arcane order known only to the proprietor.

Late morning and the mead hall is almost empty. There are a few clingers that hang about-most of the men and women who frequent this place have headed out to work-or won't be in till after quitting time. As it stands it gives those that are here freely (and not passed out on a table) a chance to bask in the silence and warm glow of the room.

Back to the table, Luke sits, mead dribbling off the bench to hie right, while a wet cup remains in hand. Dull mismatched eyes focus on a few pictures at the awl which he is staring at. A sip and a wince, before the cup is pressed to his jaw. There is a glance, looking to find what time it is, before he shrugs. His half hearted checking done for now, the Grantham knight seems content to take his time in finishing his drink-where as an nigh clean breakfast plate cools.

Flint doesn't get out that much, most of his time is spent being the second set of eyes over Marah's affairs, which has been more or less watered down to a galvanized accountant. Going over economic numbers and stock projections. It's not exactly the kind of life he envisioned, which would explain why he ditched the job for his sister. She would be better at it anyways. When he's not up to his eyeballs in paperwork, he's usually with one doctor or another, going over how his lower spine replacement is coming, how it's being built, what the surgery is going to be like and how long he'll have before he can seriously consider getting back into the fight. Because the Ash Knight in the wheelchair is getting a bit too restless.

It however doesn't stop him from drinking, much to his doctor's dismay. They can't complain too much, given that he's been fully healed for over month, it's been more or less a waiting game to get the precise measurements right on the prosthetic. It gets him a lot of time to do a whole lot of nothing when he's not otherwise preoccupied. So he rolls himself into the mead house, which at one time was an old haunt, but has recently been less frequented. But looking at numbers can be mind-numbing, so better get out and get a drink to catch his breath.

Though he'll never admit it, Luke was lucky in his order of birth. His father never contemplated skipping Marah in favor of his leadership, and likely never would in the first place. A turn of his head as the door opens with that quiet whoosh. Fresh air sucked in with the arrival of something or someone new. "I'll-" whatever he was going to say to whomever he imagined was coming in is drowned out in his cup as he drains another gulp and eyes catch his brother. "Oh, Flint." flat-but welcoming.

A hand is motioned over to his bare table and somewhat dry bench. "Slop's fine if your hungry." likely-not "I can order you a cup as well." A glance to his own, before he is looking to flag someone else down.

It was something Flint was being groomed for, and were war not happening in their generation, Flint, then Jacob Grantham would have made a decent heir. Average at best, but he would've been honest about it. It was that knowledge that drove him to step down. Because he cared about Igni so much, he knew his rule wouldn't of been as beneficial if he had stayed. Marah is good for Ignis and Grantham; a no-nonsense woman who puts Ignis before anything else, even if it means pissing off other nobility. See the incident with the Volens. It's rare when an heir willing gives up their title, but the eldest was at least wise enough to know his own limitations. He's better off as a knight and supporter to his sister anyways.

"Crow." Flint replies, wheeling up to his brother's table. "Shit, haven't seen you in ages. I had heard you were off on the Ignis front." It's only a partial guess. "Either way, what brings you around here?" A glance at Luke's cup. "Read my mind. Marah has me going over some inane ore investment agreement with the Khournas. 'Checking for errors' she says. 'Busy work' I say. Anyways, how you been?"

"I was." Luke responds before he is grinning back to his brother. "I was given some time back, I plan to re ship back out-though it looks like the Orelles might be sending spare knights and troops where they can." A shrug there before he is rubbing his jaw. "Leave's rare." he adds in his usual raw voice, aged with the help of smokes and drink. "So I have been over indulging." added from the rim of his cup before he is able to catch someone's attention. "Nother round." crowed out before letting his black eye setting on his brother. "For both of us: He-" a point of his finger "Needs to catch up." a slight slurring before he straightens up.

"I've been better, so alive works. We've got our packets of Hostiles contained right now, bit of a stalemate we're looking to open up." Crowseye watches his brother be fine finishing his cup. "But I will say its better as sister doesn't have me scouring figures." a sniff, before his hand is coming up to drag over his face in a lazy manner. "Only wound I took was in a bar at the beginning of the month." a brief pause as he considers his next words. "You're missed."

"You sound like our neice." Flint muses lightly. "Ashleigh has done a lot of bitching about being pulled out of the fight. I think Marah is getting a little…paranoid. Especially now that Devon is gone, in our sister's mind I think she has the idea that she's lost two children and doesn't want to lose a third. Beden and Bastion are good sorts though, but Ash, she's got too much of dad in her. More action, less talking."

"Alive is good. You don't get to go and join the Crone that easily, Crow." he leans back in his chair. "Yes, take fucking solace in that. Doing Marah's bitchwork has never been…fun, but it's been helpful, and there's a sore lack of much I can do currently. Unless Hostiles start jousting in wheelchairs. -Then- maybe it'll be different." The last gets a quiet nod. "And I miss being out there. Hopefully, that'll change soon. Surgery is getting put together, got doctors sorted out, all that jazz. It's growing the replacement that takes time, I'm told." There's a sudden grunt. "…a lot of samples were taken. Bone marrow aspirations. Don't ever get one."

"Yeah, she does." a grin there even as the flagons are on their way over. "It's good to see fight in the girl. It's fucking inspiration the Legion lives on. And when you see too many knights and officers pulled back, can get disconcerting. If anything we're saying it's to keep from burn out." A shrug and Luke is nodding and reaching for his glass before it hits the table. "Marah's got her reasons, I am sure."

A snort, and he waves a hand in Flint's direction. "I don't plan on it soon. I've yet to have a real good story to be sung." he adds dryly before scratching his chin. "If you want we could hook a motor onto your chair and just ram you at the enemy like a godsdamned ramship." a grin there. "You could be the rock that rides." a shake of his head "Or rolls, whatever." Brows raise there for a moment. "How do they take it? vacuum your ass?" a snort "Wait-don't really inform me." And now he allows himself to drop into silence in favor of drinking. Eyes fixated on the table before he finally croaks back up. "How long? Like till it's grown? I know it's not as easy as my eye, but they have to have something fucking soon right?"

"Makes sense. Can't throw all our good combatants out at once. Personally, I'm not a fan of war of attritions. The Orelles should get their asses in line and just bomb the shit out of the Fifth World. Make are lives easier. Less deaths for us. I swear, the past three wars now, we're being whittled away, bit by bit. Killed by bugbites." Flint utters. "Think we're going to have to invent a better plan sooner or later. What that plan is, hell if I know." Then laughs lightly. "Trust me, it's not something I haven't already thought of. I wish it were that easy. And no, not like that. They take it with a very large and very painful needle. It's not all that fun."

"As for how long it takes, I guess this is most complicated of surgeries. Nervous system is very difficult stuff to regrow, recreating I think…about three lower vertebrae to replace the messed up ones I have now. Has to be organically regrown, so there's no threat of infection. I could just a cybernetic one, bu the risk of spinal infections, with lead to a brain meningitis are a lot more…possible. And after reading up on that I decided that, no, I'm okay waiting for the organic one. Once the surgery is done, then it's more rehab. And after that and doctors are satisfied with my progress, I'll be able to get back into the thick of things. Still time, but less than what there was awhile ago."

"Mosquito bites-drain us and sicken us, till we fucking fester and finally break." Crow chimes in. "For the Orelles to do it though, they'll have to get balls big enough to say Fuck it to the King and do it without waiting. Bomb the shitoutta them and then drop us in to clean up." A bit of anger there before he swallows with a laugh. "So worse than a tattoo. Gotchya, I won't sign up for anything to do with marrow."

Absent nod, but what do you say? "Once you're out of rehab, I'll kick you ass back into shape. I'd like it better than breaking squires. Breaking you-fuck that Reforging you is what I want to do. Kill off the hostiles and see my brother back in the line." A raise of his drink there. "I'm no Granite-I know..but I could get you there." drawled out as he leans onto his forearms. "You deserve that..You know? A fighting death. Not meningitis." A cough and he is back to drinking. "Fuck my mood-Devon and Victor came by."

"We'll just have to see if High Lord Orelle thinks it's a good idea. Eventually, it's going to drag on, and we'll be far too old of men to be any use. Well, if the Crone has any sense of justice, we'll of joined her long before it reaches the forty year mark. I guess…just don't want this to become Ash's kid's war too." Flint pauses, laughing. "That's if Ash ever gets married and squeezes out a couple of kits. Though I'm not sure how I'd feel about being a great-uncle."

"Heh, and I've been saying that to Nitrim Khournas. He's been chomping at the bit to get back into squiring. He hadn't been fucking around his cock too much. He pissed away his first chance, and now I'm probably going to give him his second and last chance to see if he has what it takes. And he thinks he's going to kick my ass. Don't get me wrong, I like him, it's just…you ever see a lot of wasted potential? He might've screwed his head on straight so we'll see. As for me…" he takes a drink from his cup. "You've been waiting for years to me into a ring with you." Then a blink at the last bit of information. "Dev came by? Huh, I hadn't heard."

"If Nitrim Khournas can think past his two balls and spraying jizz over something I would be impressed." Luke replies with a faint smirk, before he is nodding. "If you need help with any of that-you know, let me know. I might not be as good as a tutor as the great Flint Grantham, but I can hit him with a sword." he adds before he is grinning. "Oh trust me I have. You don't live through Hostile engagements and petty House shit to not see some nobleman's son or daughter fucking their life away on Red Eye or something else only to lose what the six gave them." A sigh there.

"Indeed I have, and I still do. I worked hard to get my rep, besides you know people would pay to see that shit." A tap of fingers on the table top before he starts to stand up. "Yeah, briefly for apples. She and Victor were talking about moving her things on to whereevertheylive." a grimace and he is catching his ribs. "Makes sense, married and knocked up-I just hate…" a shrug "Family leaving. Oh and Beden is apparently to be betrothed to a Tree lord." by means of filling his brother in, though Flint likely would know as much from Marah. "Everyone is moving on. Soon she'll find a match for you and we'll be great uncles to a war time heir who will be a war time head of house, because let us face it. The High Lord isn't going to act- and we'll be just knicks in the Crone's crook before this war is ever over." very bleak there. "Sorry."

Flint sighs. "Nitrim…potential. This time, I think he got it through his head. If not, we're done with him, simple as that. The Legion takes all, but even we know a lost cause when it slaps us in the face. Ashleigh thinks I'm being too leient. Well, there was a time when maybe Sir Bracken should've given up on me. If he and dad weren't such close friends…" he leaves that up in the air. Family history and all that. "Speaking off, you should probably go see the old man. He's enjoying retirement." The matter of Devon gets a similar look on his face. "I know, I know. Me and Devon have had more than a couple screaming matches about her leaving before her wedding. It wasn't…wasn't pretty. No, I hear you, it's…I don't like it. When is someone going to marry into Grantham for a change, eh? Seems like we lost more than we get. Devon, Odette, and…wait, what?" his makes a slight jerk back. "Beden's getting married. Wait…Beden's gay?" The way he says that doesn't sound like he cares, more that he just didn't know.

"I will. Let him look into my eye and tell me to watch my ass when their reporters close by." Luke says with a laugh. "I don't know, we thin our ranks way too easily. With you and me, we're the last male bits left-well and Bastien.." which he won't comment on much. "Yes..and yes? Well maybe. He said Marah was going to marry him off. We'll see. Right now Beden needs to make up his mind if he wants that or not." which means Uncle Luke already had that talk with him.

"Bracken didn't give up on you, because that's not what we do. Wyrm didn't give up on me even if I fucking cried like a baby that first month of my squiring. I was weak milk shit." to put it plainly. Now he moves, coming around to place a hand on his elder brother's shoulder. A grip and a pat. "You're not being lenient. Metal gives to a point-but then there's a point where you gotta break it, or it gets stronger." A look to Flint. "That's where you are with Nitrim I imagine-just have to push. We had those moments with Sir Bracken and Sir Grimm. We got strong." A shrug as he starts for the door. "I don't have high hopes for the Khournas, but then-he's not Grantham." A look back to Flint. "I need a shower, but I'll catch you later." And he pauses for a moment almost to the door. "It's good to see you." added before he is calling over to the bar. "Put him on my tab." and he is on his way out-cup in hand.

"Same Crow. If I didn't know better, maybe it should've been you sitting on that chair instead of me." Flint reply wryly. "You always were the one with most insight. Marah got the brains and I got the brawn…though, I think you've more than caught up to me on that one." The matter of Bastien gets and eye-roll. "I dunno about that one. I don't think Marah hugged him enough but…when have you seen our darling sister ever be nice?"

"Well see how it all pans out. One or another, we'll be alright. Well, the Khournas are good folk, of all the houses, that's the one we have the most in common with, I think." Granted, he -may- be speaking of personal bias if the stuff about him and Anabethe Khournas are true. "It's good to see you again, Crow. Don't be a stranger now, should even try to wrangle us all together some time. Been a long time since we all did that." That said, he smiles at his younger brother, giving a wave in goodbye.

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